


Wildfire

by stopmopingstarthoping



Series: Lucis Military Academy [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College, F/F, Military, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping
Summary: Crowe moves in with Aranea, and their relationship continues to grow.





	1. Chapter 1

Crowe blew a strand of hair from her face, hands full of a giant crate, and looked over at Aranea, who had a beanbag slung over her shoulder, grinning. Aranea glanced back, thinking how cute Crowe was when she was redfaced from dragging what little stuff she had up three flights of stairs. It was still almost warm enough for shorts, but the giant sweatshirt Crowe had piled on top against the chill swallowed the shorts almost entirely - a look Aranea completely appreciated.

“Thanks, again, babe. I promise to be a good roommate.” Aranea flopped the beanbag in the middle of the room and took the box from Crowe, giving her a small peck on the lips as she grabbed it and stacked it on the desk with the others. “Emptied out half the drawers for you and everything.”

“Thanks.” Crowe smiled, and dug through one of her duffel bags. “Wow. I’m gross. I need a shower for sure.” She pulled out some soap and shampoo and headed toward the bathroom.  Aranea followed, a devilish smile on her lips and her fingers dancing on Crowe’s hips once she caught her.

“I’m liking this living arrangement already,” she purred into Crowe’s ear.

Crowe rolled her eyes and laughed, but slowed down and tipped her head down, exposing the back of her neck to Aranea. “Gods, your poor suitemates.”

“What? I know how to be quiet.” Aranea pouted, dropping a kiss at the nape of Crowe’s neck and watching her shiver.

“No, you really don’t.” Crowe set the bottles down on the shower floor and turned to capture Aranea’s lips with her own.

Aranea closed her eyes and melted into the kiss. It was going to be downright addicting, having Crowe in her living space. “And whose fault is that, really?” She spoke slowly but teasingly, opening heavy-lidded eyes to give her girlfriend a sassy gaze.

Crowe grinned at her praise. “What can I say? Maybe if you were slightly less gorgeous . . .”

Aranea’s hands were already inside her shirt, and her kisses grew more heated. “You’re one to talk.” The praise was muffled against Crowe’s skin, and Aranea made a mental note to do something nice for her suitemates at her first opportunity.

* * *

Neither of them had an easy time falling asleep that first night. Cliche as it was, they’d absolutely pushed the twin beds in the room together, and one or the other of them kept opening her eyes to peek at the other, or grin widely. The odd stack of books still sat here and there, but they were almost finished unpacking and interspersing Crowe's belongings in the room. The blinds were open, as usual, and the shine of the stars outside lined Crowe’s form in soft light.

Finally, Crowe pulled Aranea into her arms and nestled her head in Aranea’s chest. Before long, she settled and dozed. Aranea had never noticed that she snored before, despite Crowe’s having slept over multiple times before this. It was cute, a light buzz emanating from her otherwise motionless form. Aranea slid a hand down Crowe’s back and one into her hair. She knew she wouldn’t sleep for a while, but it didn’t matter. There was absolutely nothing she would rather be doing right now.

* * *

“Crowe - you here?” Aranea was home early because she’d kicked some serious ass at sparring practice, and she was eager to chatter about it. She cast her eyes quickly around their room, but it was empty.

“Over here ‘Nea!” yelled that familiar voice with just the hint of a rasp to it. She was hanging out with Jenner and Salix, cross-legged on Jenner’s bed and cracking up at Salix’s attempt to learn Galahdian history.

“No! No, that was not how it went down at all. I can totally see how you would think that, but   . . .” Crowe went on, explaining one of the stories of her homeland with obvious pride. Salix giggled and nodded, obviously enjoying the story. Aranea leaned against the door frame and just gazed at Crowe. She watched Crowe’s hands move as she talked, watched her eyes widen and sparkle, and Aranea crossed her arms over her chest and sighed happily. There would be time enough later for Aranea to regale them all with tales of her spear-wielding, but for now she would just watch and admire.

* * *

Aranea came back from class, and Crowe was staring dully at the television.

“Hey, you ready for dinner?” She breezed in the door. “It’s chickatrice nugget night.”

Crowe turned slowly. “What? Yeah, sorry. Just worn out today.”

“What are you watching? Must’ve been good.” Aranea leaned over and dropped a kiss on Crowe’s forehead, dropping her books and reaching down to grab her hand.

“Just this - thing?” Crowe brushed at her forehead. “I dunno, it wasn’t very good or I guess I would remember, right?”

“You’re so cute. You can just admit you were taking a nap.” Aranea laughed. First-years tended to turn themselves inside out sometimes.  She pulled Crowe up onto unsteady feet. Aranea peered at her. Crowe’s eyes were bloodshot and she looked pale. “Hey.” Silver eyebrows pulled together in concern, and she cupped the side of Crowe’s face, searching her features. “You coming down with something? You don’t look so good.”

Crowe shrugged. “Some of the lightning shit got intense today. I think it just wore me out. I’m okay, ‘Nea.” She gave a crooked smile and put her hand on top of Aranea’s, but she closed her eyes for a long moment.

“You want me to bring you a sick plate? You seriously look exhausted, babe.”

Crowe scowled. “No. I can drag myself down to the other end of the building. Especially for nuggets. And I don’t work tonight, so I’m good.” She grinned again, shook out her arms, and rolled her shoulders. “Ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my ID.” Aranea watched Crowe scratch her head and lumber out the door with concern, a thoughtful look crossing her strong features.

* * *

 “Hey. Babe?”

Aranea turned from the desk where she’d been reading and taking notes.

“Can we go on a date?”

Aranea looked at the clock, and looked at the pile of work she had to do. “Yeah, sure. I think it’s pitcher night at the ‘Bones - let me just grab my wallet . . .”

Crowe cut her off. “No, like a real _date_. Not the fucking _Crossbones_.” She was clearly irritated, and Aranea was a little surprised.

“Yeah, I guess it’s annoying to hang out there so much since you work there - I think the taco truck is on the corner. You wanna go now, or -”

“Dammit, Aranea, I do not want to go to a _fucking taco truck_. I want to go on a _date_. I want to do something that isn’t just studying, or eating cafeteria food, or playing video games. I want to go on a nice date with my girlfriend. I do not want to _hang out with my bro_.”

Her fists were balled up, and she was exceedingly adorable, and Aranea made one of the most dangerous mistakes she’d made in a long time. She laughed.

Her stomach dropped as Crowe stared daggers into her eyes, then got up, grabbed her wallet, and stomped out.

_Shit._

She heaved a sigh and stood up to follow her down the hall, catching Crowe before she got outside and got on her bike.

They smoothed it over, Crowe mumbling a cranky apology and Aranea apologizing for laughing- though Crowe had to wrangle a real apology out of her, after Aranea had first offered a non-apology that sounded a lot like “I’m sorry you got mad at something I said.” Aranea had still been feeling a bit shitty and uncooperative. It wasn't that she didn't understand Crowe’s point; Aranea was just a casual _person._ Making a big deal out of things wasn't her style, and she was miffed that Crowe didn't seem to appreciate that on her end.  

Aranea hugged Crowe, her mind working quickly. She’d clearly messed up here, and she needed to fix it.

* * *

All the text had said was “Dress up, and come over to Tredd’s.”

Crowe screwed her face up. Tredd was fine, she guessed, as friendly neighborhood douchebags went. And she’d been to his place for parties along with everyone else, but why would Aranea want the three of them to have a dressed-up hangout time? It was weird. Beers and cornhole would make more sense than nice clothes. She shrugged, and flipped through her closet. Maybe it was some stupid dinner party or something.

When Crowe knocked on Tredd’s door, Aranea opened it, kissing her on the cheek and motioning her inside. She was wearing an apron over what looked like a dress. Crowe came in, took off her jacket, and looked around in surprise. “Where is everyone? I thought this was some kind of party.”

Aranea took her jacket and hung it up, eyeing the little crocheted black dress Crowe wore with a slow smile of approval. Crowe grinned back - she'd worn her hair down, out of its usual pinned-up style, because she'd guessed that Aranea was fond of it. Judging by the stealthy gaze that kept bouncing back to her, it looked like she'd guessed right.

“Nope.” Aranea looked way too pleased with herself. “This is a date. Tredd’s not even here. It’s just you and me, and I’m making you dinner.”

Crowe looked at her with trepidation.

“No, really, there is exactly one thing I know how to make. I used to make it for my dad and me a lot. I saved the recipe, but I haven’t had a reason to cook, because, you know, dorms.” She waved her hand vaguely. “And I did a test run a couple of days ago, so it should be just fine. I hope. I mean, Tredd and Luche liked it, but you’ve seen how they eat. Not exactly discerning palates.” A timer started beeping. “Anyway, please sit, and I’ll be right back.”

Crowe sat, a little stunned. There were candles on the table, not lit yet, and a bottle of wine. She yelled into the kitchen, “I would have brought you flowers if I knew you went to all this trouble.”

Aranea looked at the bouquet of white roses sitting on the kitchen counter and grinned. She heard her phone buzz and glanced over at it as she stirred, then wiped her hands on a towel and picked it up.

[Tredd]:  _Can you let me know by like 7 if I’m sexiled or not?_

Aranea screwed up her face and tapped out an answer.

[Aranea]: _Gross, Tredd, we’re not going to fuck in your apartment._

[Tredd]:  _Hey, you said you needed it for the night. I put on clean sheets and everything._

Aranea laughed and cringed at the same time. She typed again.

[Aranea]: _Uh, thanks? But no? We’ll go back to our place. But I appreciate the use of the kitchen._

Aranea shook her head and stirred the sauce, giving it a taste.

Aranea checked the daggerquill breasts with a thermometer, and they were perfectly done. She put them on a plate to rest, put the sauce on low, and dressed the salads.

Aranea headed out to the table, salads in hand and a proud grin on her face. She set one in front of Crowe, and Crowe gave her a wide smile in return. “This looks amazing, as do you.” Aranea had taken off the apron and Crowe finally had a full view of the dress underneath. It was a floaty, deep burgundy fabric, with long, flowing sleeves and a deep V cut in the front. Aranea blushed a little at her compliment and spun to retrieve more items from the kitchen. Crowe appreciated the sharp curves of the calves rising up from Aranea's black heels, and breathed in the scent of the daggerquill dish as Aranea set it on the table.

Aranea came back from the kitchen again, arms full of wine and flowers, and let out a self-satisfied breath. “That’s everything.” She lit the candles, and stepped over to dim the lights. Crowe just looked at her, heart swelling at all the effort Aranea had gone to and enjoying the cozy romance of the evening. She watched with affection as Aranea smoothly poured her a glass of wine with a flourish.

“Aw, you even remembered that I like white wine.”

“I may have gotten some for me, too.” Aranea smirked and poured herself a glass of red.

“You know, white goes better with daggerquill,” Crowe teased her.

“Whatever, red goes better with my mouth.” Aranea laughed and took a sip.

Crowe stood up. “You sure about that?” She got up impulsively, moved around the tiny table, and captured Aranea’s lips in a kiss, closing her eyes. “Mmm, you do have a point.” Aranea pulled her in for a longer, deeper kiss and Crowe sighed. Aranea slid her hand around Crowe and let out a tortured little groan at finding that her dress was almost completely backless.

Crowe startled, though, at the playful slap Aranea delivered to her asscheek. “Finish that before it gets cold, babe. I worked hard on it.”

Crowe laughed and returned to her chair.  “We’ll pick up where that left off later, hey?”

Aranea’s eyes sparkled over her wineglass. “Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: This AU/series is kind of an organizational mess, so I'll be posting the rest of this Aranea/Crowe story as chapters of this work. If you made it all the way to this note, thank you very much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Crowe sat in her desk chair, feet kicked up and a book in her lap. Aranea looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the bed just in time to see Crowe’s sleeve fall back as she turned a page. A nasty burn mark curled its way up her forearm, and Aranea frowned.

“Did you get that today?”

Crowe looked up, startled “What? Yeah. It’s fine.”

Aranea got up and grabbed at Crowe’s arm until she snatched it back. “Did they not get to you with a potion in time?  What the hell?”

“It’s _fine_ , and yes, they did.” Brown eyes shot her an affronted gaze, and Crowe went back to her book.  “I can take care of myself, Aranea.”

How bad had it been _before_ they’d healed her? Aranea’s mind raced with anger, but she just patted Crowe’s shoulder and dropped a kiss on her head. “I just worry about you, babe.”

“I’m not some kind of defenseless baby. Working on some advanced stuff, if you must know. For the midterm exhibition.” Crowe took on a bit of a lofty tone.

“I know.” Aranea scowled again, and pouted a little. “I just - worry.”

Crowe shut her book and turned around in her chair. “Come on, do you think I enjoy the fact that what _you’re_ best at involves being hundreds of feet in the air and then crashing down full force? It’s not my fault you don’t understand how to use magic. I know what I’m doing. Or, at least, I’m getting there. I trust you not to murder yourself - have the same consideration for me.”

“That’s different, I’ve been -”

“Just because I’m new to this doesn’t mean I need your protection. For fuck’s sake. We have talked about this.” Crowe ran impatient fingers through messy strands, and reached for her jacket. “I need some air.”

Aranea watched her storm out, and sighed out heavily. She had a point. Aranea knew that part of her trepidation was because of her own lack of skill with magic. She just didn’t know how it felt to cast it, or how to control it at all. She knew how to repel it, how to recover from it, and how to work in tandem with a mage to take down an enemy. Much as Aranea knew she should give Crowe some credit for being a talented mage in her own right - albeit a beginner - she couldn’t help the crawling feeling in her stomach that made her hug her knees close to her chest. She sat there for a long while, trying to ease the tight feeling but failing, before she reached for her phone to send an apology text and try to lure Crowe back to their room.

* * *

Early morning sun cracked through the shutters on the tall floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows in Hydrean Hall, Aranea listened to Professor Van Ness’ lecture on mage support for non-mage infantry, and her gaze fell on one of the windows in particular. It portrayed one of the Kings of Lucis, channeling ice magic, with a suggestion of the Astral Shiva behind him. It was beautifully done, with varying shades of blue swirls around the king - Aranea couldn’t remember which king it was; she’d never been good at memorizing things like that - and darkly tinted panes set in patterns to show the robes draped around him.

Aranea’s gaze fell on the two-dimensional king himself. She’d never noticed it before, but his expression was pained, and jagged dark blue scars ripped up his fingers, hands, and forearms, in shapes mimicking the magic spiraling out from his arms, flung wide.

She scowled, and raised her hand.

“Yes. Highwind?”

“Has the Citadel studied the effects of magic use on the human body?”

The professor was a little taken aback. “What do you mean? It’s been noted that, with a grant from the reigning monarch, Lucian powers can be shared with -”

Aranea cut him off. “Yeah, I know that. But does it hurt to use it?” Aranea was complete garbage at magic use, and had barely passed basic competencies with flasks and field heals. She didn’t know how it felt to make fire or ice or lightning flow from her fingertips, and she’d been deemed fully hopeless by those who had attempted to teach her.

Aranea wasn't sure if it was the fact that she'd interrupted or the subject matter, but the professor grew cold.

“See me in my office later about this, please.” The professor’s expression was uncomfortable and evasive. The room went silent, and someone squeaked a chair uncomfortably.

Aranea scribbled down the information about fire, ice, and lightning deposits and answered dutifully when called on, but there was a defensiveness behind Professor Van Ness’ eyes that bothered her. When class ended, Aranea let the other students file out, and followed the instructor to his office.

Aranea sat in the chair with a friendly smile. This wasn’t going to go well, but she figured she might as well try to start off on the right foot. “So, magic use. Does it hurt?  I’ll admit my skills are too poor to have personal knowledge, but a good soldier’s got to know all the ins and outs of different attacks, right?” She was almost too cheery, anticipating the door being slammed in her face.

Which it promptly was. “Cadet Highwind. That is simply not a relevant or appropriate topic of conversation, and I’d appreciate you not bringing it up again, particularly in class in front of the other students.”

Aranea’s bullshit meter was pinging loudly, but she struggled to maintain civility. “So, does that mean that the answer is that it _is_ harmful?”

He sighed with irritation. “Prolonged magic use is not currently known to cause serious harm. Please cease this line of inquiry.”

The bullshit meter broke, springs popping out wildly, and Aranea leaned forward, waiting a long beat before speaking. “Why does the King walk with a cane, Professor Van Ness?” Her voice seethed with the effort to keep it even.

“I’ll thank you to get out of my office, Highwind. And avoid speculating on the health of any of the royal family unless you’d like a court-martial as a graduation present.” His eyes narrowed.

Aranea scowled and got up slowly. She shot the professor one last look, opened the door, and left.

Aranea sat and brooded for a while over a cup of coffee in the student union before heading back to their room. This wasn't just a case of being an overprotective girlfriend - there was something there. That bizarre conversation had confirmed it.

* * *

Crowe pulled the clothes to one side in the closet to admire her dress uniform jacket again. Though a lighter shade than the true Glaives wore - more of a charcoal gray than black - it made her swell with pride just to look at it. She ran a finger over the buttons on the front; she’d painstakingly pressed and cared for it in preparation for the midterm exhibition. It wasn’t for a week, but she was impatient. She’d emerged as one of the top mages in their first-year class, and something had just _clicked_. She had the kind of instinctive timing and strategy with magic that made her instructors nod - first with surprise, then with pride. She grinned with amusement at the pleasure they took in discovering her talent.

Crowe hadn’t had many consistent things in her life but she hewed to one thing:  she had sworn to be able to protect herself and those she loved. Not necessarily through brute force, though she’d never been afraid of that. Sometimes it was smarts, or wiles, or even a dirty trick, if needed. But she would never, _ever_ feel the press of a boot on her neck again. Or watch someone she cared about endure the same. Her chin lifted, and her shoulders squared. Being in service to the kingdom of Lucis wasn’t necessarily how she’d contemplated accomplishing this particular goal, but she was on her way. She was succeeding. She was prepared. And she was damn proud of it.

Crowe was tucking her uniform back into their closet with a small smile when Aranea burst through the door in her usual jumble of flying hair and wild energy. She dropped a kiss on Crowe’s cheek and ripped the blinds up, talking a mile a minute.

“You will not _believe_ the mess that was the dragoon corps today. Holy shit, they need to get it together. I was laughing so hard at some of them - did you know that if you fuck up on a Lancet attack, you can poke yourself directly in the ass? Kellatt learned that today, poor bastard.”

She went on talking, and Crowe’s gaze fell on her adoringly. The vague pink glow of exertion still lingered on her porcelain skin, and her green eyes snapped and sparkled as she talked with excitement about the upcoming exhibition. At one point, she flung strands of shimmering hair over her shoulder, and Crowe pounced.

Slightly surprised, but letting out a low giggle, Aranea embraced her. “Hi there,” she drawled, and Crowe pressed their lips together, skimming lightly at first, then pressing more firmly before pulling back.

“I absolutely cannot wait to see you fly. It’s going to be amazing.” Crowe melted into the beautiful woman she loved, and the two of them lost track of time for a little while.

* * *

Dawn hadn’t yet tinged the sky, and yet here she was, pulling her tank over her head and groaning. Too early for breakfast, even, and her stomach was complaining about the early hour and lack of sleep. Grabbing a sweatshirt from the hook on the back of the door, she looped back to ruffle Crowe’s hair gently, watching her sigh vaguely and turn over, before heading out the door.

It was cool and damp, and Aranea zipped the sweatshirt up and huddled into it. She spotted another student ahead of her wearing the same thing - the large, ornate Lucian skull on the back of the black sweatshirt caught the streetlights lighting the campus sidewalk. She blinked dry eyes and breathed in deeply to wake up.

All of the seniors were assembled in various combinations on the practice grounds when she arrived, and most looked as bleary as she felt. She shook out her arms and headed to the lockers to pull out her spear.  As she performed the usual checks, the stars disappeared and the first light became visible. Nautical dawn. The unspoken cue caused all of them to assemble into formation, ready to begin practice exercises. The Exhibition was only a month away, and they all wanted to be perfect. Better than perfect. It was a lot of pressure, but they all knew they were practicing for later real life-and-death situations, and there was an energy and spirit to moving through these movements together that kept them rolling out this early, almost every morning.

Sabers flashed, lances spun, and the dragoon corps leapt, again and again. By the time the hour was out, Aranea and the others were sweaty and spent. She hit the showers and grabbed two coffees from the campus shop, returning to the room just as Crowe was rolling out of bed.

“Hey babe. I got your favorite.” She kissed Crowe on the forehead and handed her the cup.

“Mmm, vanilla latte. You are the best. The best girlfriend, the best -” Aranea sat down on the bed and Crowe curled around her. “You smell good. Not as good as the coffee, but good.”

“Freshly showered. What time are you getting started today?”

“Ugh, soon. They have to drive us out to the remote site today, and it takes about an hour.  Want to make sure that if we fuck up and blow shit up it’s not, like, the dorms.” Crowe laughed softly around the rim of her cup.

“You? Blow shit up? Never.” Aranea teased lightly, as wet strands fell onto Crowe’s neck and she yelped a little.

“Hush, you. Dinner tonight? Lib is making some Galahdian skewers and he invited us over.”

“You do not have to ask me that twice. Yum, meat.” Aranea’s eyes lit up at the prospect, and she shoved herself off the bed. “All right, time to go sit in a classroom for the next six hours. Not my fucking favorite. Burn em up sideways, hey?”

Crowe just shook her head and laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

Aranea returned to the room, eyes bleary and legs stiff from sitting. She bounced on her toes at the doorway and stretched to reach the top of the door frame. “We gonna go soon, babe? I want Lib’s meat at the height of freshness.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know what I mean.”

There was no response. “Baby? You in here?” She hadn’t gotten the time wrong, had she?

“Yeah.” Crowe's voice was creaky and rough.

“Oh, honey.” Crowe was disheveled and messy - she'd clearly showered, but her hair had dried crooked, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she was sitting in a chair clearly trying and failing to study.

Aranea walked up behind her and laid gentle hands on her shoulders, and Crowe sighed.

“I really wish we had a tub.”

“That gives me an idea. Why don't you text the guys and tell them we're staying in tonight?” Aranea started rummaging through her toiletries.

Crowe picked up her phone. “I'm really too tired for -”

“That's not what I meant. Just text Libertus; he’ll understand. I'll order pizza. Come on, it's got to be here somewhere.”

Crowe shook her head and punched at her phone. “Sorry to be a jerk, but I don't want pizza.”

“Altissian? I'll order it. Finally! I knew it was here.” Aranea emerged with a small bottle and walked over to Crowe to pull her up. Her nails were cracked and split, and Aranea looked at them with a worried frown.

“Clothes off, lay on the bed. I promise, no funny business.” She held up the small bottle of massage oil. “I just want to spoil you.”

“Okay.” Crowe finished tossing her clothes to the floor next to her and flopped face-first onto the bed. “Sounds good.” Her words were muffled, and Aranea smiled adoringly.

She took off the button-down flannel shirt she'd worn over her t-shirt and poured a small dollop of amber-gold liquid into her palm. As she rubbed it between her hands to warm it, her gaze traveled up the back of Crowe's body. Ulterior motives aside, she truly was beautiful. And Aranea planned to worship every inch of her this evening.

Aranea sat down next to Crowe's shoulders and gently swept aside the uneven waves of chestnut hair from her shoulders and back. She smoothed oiled hands over the curve of Crowe's neck and down over her shoulders, feeling the tension in the muscles there. She pulled both Crowe's trapezius muscles into her palms and squeezed hard, then rubbed down into the stiff knots and hard muscles from neck to shoulder.

Crowe let out a deep groan, and Aranea grinned. She sent her fingers up Crowe's neck, rubbing around her hairline and smiling at the swirling curls there. Crowe turned her head finally, wide brown eyes looking up.

“You're so _nice_.”

Aranea laughed; Crowe was already a little dazed and she had barely started. “I know.” She wrapped fingers around Crowe’s neck to press gently into the muscles running up the front of Crowe’s neck, and she gasped.

“Oh, I didn’t even know that was sore. You are the _best_.” She sighed deeply as Aranea’s fingers dug in, making broad circles into the flesh above her collarbone. Aranea worked up and down Crowe’s shoulders for a while, squeezing her shoulders and working down her deltoid for a moment before returning to her shoulders and neck.

“Hold on.” Aranea got up, and Crowe whined. “I’ll be right back.” She wiped her hands off on her pants briefly.

Aranea dug out the scented candle they’d bought from the downtown market and some matches, and lit it, placing it on the windowsill with a grin. She clicked off the light as she returned to the bed, running fingers up the curves of the lovely body buried in their sheets.

A little more oil, and then Aranea took Crowe’s hand in hers. She smoothed up each slim finger, rolling the knuckles back and forth and enjoying more happy humming sounds from her girlfriend. She stroked her own thumbs over her palms and pressed Crowe’s hand between her own, then moved to her wrist and forearm.

By the time she lowered Crowe’s arm to the bed, it was completely slack, and Aranea could see a pleased smile curve those pretty pink lips under the waves of tangled hair.

She worked her way up the other hand, appreciating the creases on Crowe’s knuckles, the graceful bend of her elbow. She was breathing deeply but not quite asleep at this point, a heap of standard-issue white sheets crumpled beneath her head; she’d flopped without a pillow, and Aranea figured it worked just as well for aligning her body.

Long, smooth strokes down Crowe’s back did the trick - it wasn’t long before the deep, rhythmic pull of her breaths told Aranea she’d dropped off into unconsciousness. Still, she continued. Crowe would probably rouse, and she clearly needed this. Aranea furrowed her brow. She’d discovered several knots, and she set to work alternating firm pressure, circular motions, and deep strokes to try to work them out.

As she worked down Crowe’s back to her shoulder blades, she spotted a few particularly beloved beauty marks.  Aranea paused for a moment to press a lingering kiss to one of them, and the vanilla-almond scent of the oil drifted into her nose. Crowe’s skin was soft and supple normally, but the sheen and moisture of the oil made it almost take on its own glow in the candlelight. She passed a hand down the lines of Crowe’s back - firm enough to avoid tickling, but a skimming touch, and followed her curves. It was contemplative, the repetitive motions, and Aranea enjoyed the feel of Crowe’s skin under her fingertips almost as much as Crowe appreciated the relief to her sore muscles.

She pressed and rubbed at the muscles just above Crowe’s tailbone and felt her stretch happily in response. Aranea moved to knead Crowe’s pert bottom and groaned appreciatively to herself, but once she dug into the muscle, she was just as businesslike as she had been with the shoulder massage. Crowe shifted appreciatively and exhaled again.

“Sorry I’m quiet. That is so, so nice. You are the absolute best.”

“It’s okay. Let me know if there are any spots in particular you want me to hit.”

“Mmm, it’s all good. Do your thing, babe.”  Crowe nestled her head back into the sheets and wiggled down into the bed.

Aranea gazed lovingly down the length of her legs before diving back in. Crowe’s legs were lithe and growing increasingly muscled as the months passed. Aranea paused briefly to muse that she’d much rather have these lovely legs wrapped around her head, but it wasn’t time for that.

She wrapped strong fingers around Crowe’s thigh and squeezed, drawing another small sigh of contentment from her completely relaxed girlfriend. Aranea’s fingertips dug around for the band connecting Crowe’s knee to her hip; as predicted, it was tight, and Crowe squirmed a little as Aranea moved it under her fingers.

She smoothed around, pushing careful fingertips into the planes and spaces around Crowe’s knees, and moved downward. Her calves were lovely, and Aranea squeezed and petted them with equal parts intent and appreciation.

By the time she was finished rolling Crowe’s ankles, she was - not asleep, but blissed out and meditative. Aranea finished by giving Crowe an attentive, detailed foot massage, rolling every toe and brushing strong thumbs over the arch of her foot. She squeezed each one, smiling softly, and got up to wash the oil off her hands.

Aranea came back to the bed and drew the blanket up over Crowe’s body, then curled in next to her. She brushed Crowe’s hair back from her cheek, watching thickly curling eyelashes sweep over her tanned cheek.

“Anything else you want, babe?”

“Hmmm, this feels so much better, you have no idea.” Liquid brown eyes blinked open and looked at Aranea gratefully. “You’re wonderful.”

Aranea leaned forward to drop a lingering kiss on Crowe’s temple. “Happy I could help, baby.” Aranea’s own stomach growled, and she laughed. “Food. I’m gonna venture out on the bike and get something. Something that’ll keep, because you? You should sleep.”

Crowe let out a large yawn. “Yeah, I think maybe. Thank you, you lovely, lovely woman.” Her voice was already growing quieter as she moved toward sleep.

Aranea grinned, and ran a quick glass of water to leave beside Crowe. “Rehydrate yourself, if you’re awake long enough.”

She headed out to find something light and filling, and closed the door quietly behind her.

* * *

Aranea closed the wooden door behind her carefully, a satisfied smile creeping across her lips. Professor Ishkai, her senior thesis advisor, had been surprisingly reasonable. She’d told Aranea that of course it made sense for her to seek to supplement a weak performance area with extensive research, and had approved offensive magic use as an appropriate thesis topic.

She walked with purpose toward the library, prepared to turn it upside down and shake the secrets out of its pockets. A stiff breeze whirled red and orange leaves in a tiny spiral up to the nearby rooftop of Draconian Hall. Aranea stopped and watched it for a moment, thoughtfully, before striding ahead.


End file.
